Book III, Chapter Chapter XI. Progress of Events. The Plot Tickens. The Web is Woven, but the Net Changes hands.

ND you have the courage then, Julia, to seek the Witch of Vesuvius
this evening; in company, too, with that fearful man?'

'Why, Nydia?' replied Julia, timidly; 'dost thou really think there is
anything to dread? These old hags, with their enchanted mirrors, their
trembling sieves, and their moon-gathered herbs, are, I imagine, but
crafty impostors, who have learned, perhaps, nothing but the very charm
for which I apply to their skill, and which is drawn but from the
knowledge of the field's herbs and simples. Wherefore should I dread?'

'Dost thou not fear thy companion?'

'What, Arbaces? By Dian, I never saw lover more courteous than that
same magician! And were he not so dark, he would be even handsome.'

Blind as she was, Nydia had the penetration to perceive that Julia's
mind was not one that the gallantries of Arbaces were likely to terrify.
She therefore dissuaded her no more: but nursed in her excited heart the
wild and increasing desire to know if sorcery had indeed a spell to
fascinate love to love.

'Let me go with thee, noble Julia,' said she at length; 'my presence is
no protection, but I should like to be beside thee to the last.'

'Thine offer pleases me much,' replied the daughter of Diomed. 'Yet how
canst thou contrive it? we may not return until late, they will miss
thee.'

'Ione is indulgent,' replied Nydia. 'If thou wilt permit me to sleep
beneath thy roof, I will say that thou, an early patroness and friend,
hast invited me to pass the day with thee, and sing thee my Thessalian
songs; her courtesy will readily grant to thee so light a boon.'

'Nay, ask for thyself!' said the haughty Julia. 'I stoop to request no
favor from the Neapolitan!'

'Well, be it so. I will take my leave now; make my request, which I
know will be readily granted, and return shortly.'

'Do so; and thy bed shall be prepared in my own chamber.' With that,
Nydia left the fair Pompeian.

On her way back to Ione she was met by the chariot of Glaucus, on whose
fiery and curveting steeds was riveted the gaze of the crowded street.

He kindly stopped for a moment to speak to the flower-girl.

'Blooming as thine own roses, my gentle Nydia! and how is thy fair
mistress?—recovered, I trust, from the effects of the storm?'

'I have not seen her this morning,' answered Nydia, 'but...'

'But what? draw back—the horses are too near thee.'

'But think you Ione will permit me to pass the day with Julia, the
daughter of Diomed?—She wishes it, and was kind to me when I had few
friends.'

'Then I may stay over the night, and return to-morrow?' said Nydia,
shrinking from the praise she so little merited.

'As thou and fair Julia please. Commend me to her; and hark ye, Nydia,
when thou hearest her speak, note the contrast of her voice with that of
the silver-toned Ione. Vale!'

His spirits entirely recovered from the effect of the past night, his
locks waving in the wind, his joyous and elastic heart bounding with
every spring of his Parthian steeds, a very prototype of his country's
god, full of youth and of love—Glaucus was borne rapidly to his
mistress.

Enjoy while ye may the present—who can read the future?

As the evening darkened, Julia, reclined within her litter, which was
capacious enough also to admit her blind companion, took her way to the
rural baths indicated by Arbaces. To her natural levity of disposition,
her enterprise brought less of terror than of pleasurable excitement;
above all, she glowed at the thought of her coming triumph over the
hated Neapolitan.

A small but gay group was collected round the door of the villa, as her
litter passed by it to the private entrance of the baths appropriated to
the women.

'Methinks, by this dim light,' said one of the bystanders, 'I recognize
the slaves of Diomed.'

'True, Clodius,' said Sallust: 'it is probably the litter of his
daughter Julia. She is rich, my friend; why dost thou not proffer thy
suit to her?'

'Why, I had once hoped that Glaucus would have married her. She does
not disguise her attachment; and then, as he gambles freely and with
ill-success...'

'The sesterces would have passed to thee, wise Clodius. A wife is a
good thing—when it belongs to another man!'

'But,' continued Clodius, 'as Glaucus is, I understand, to wed the
Neapolitan, I think I must even try my chance with the dejected maid.
After all, the lamp of Hymen will be gilt, and the vessel will reconcile
one to the odor of the flame. I shall only protest, my Sallust, against
Diomed's making thee trustee to his daughter's fortune.'

Dismissing her slaves to that part of the house set apart for their
entertainment, Julia entered the baths with Nydia, and declining the
offers of the attendants, passed by a private door into the garden
behind.

'She comes by appointment, be sure,' said one of the slaves.

'What is that to thee?' said a superintendent, sourly; 'she pays for the
baths, and does not waste the saffron. Such appointments are the best
part of the trade. Hark! do you not hear the widow Fulvia clapping her
hands? Run, fool—run!'

Julia and Nydia, avoiding the more public part of the garden, arrived at
the place specified by the Egyptian. In a small circular plot of grass
the stars gleamed upon the statue of Silenus—the merry god reclined
upon a fragment of rock—the lynx of Bacchus at his feet—and over his
mouth he held, with extended arm, a bunch of grapes, which he seemingly
laughed to welcome ere he devoured.

'I see not the magician,' said Julia, looking round: when, as she spoke,
the Egyptian slowly emerged from the neighboring foliage, and the light
fell palely over his sweeping robes.

'Salve, sweet maiden!—But ha! whom hast thou here? we must have no
companions!'

'It is but the blind flower-girl, wise magician,' replied Julia:
'herself a Thessalian.'

'Oh! Nydia!' said the Egyptian. 'I know her well.'

Nydia drew back and shuddered.

'Thou hast been at my house, methinks!' said he, approaching his voice
to Nydia's ear; 'thou knowest the oath!—Silence and secrecy, now as
then, or beware!'

'Yet,' he added, musingly to himself, 'why confide more than is
necessary, even in the blind—Julia, canst thou trust thyself alone with
me? Believe me, the magician is less formidable than he seems.'

As he spoke, he gently drew Julia aside.

'The witch loves not many visitors at once,' said he: 'leave Nydia here
till your return; she can be of no assistance to us: and, for
protection—your own beauty suffices—your own beauty and your own rank;
yes, Julia, I know thy name and birth. Come, trust thyself with me,
fair rival of the youngest of the Naiads!'

The vain Julia was not, as we have seen, easily affrighted; she was
moved by the flattery of Arbaces, and she readily consented to suffer
Nydia to await her return; nor did Nydia press her presence. At the
sound of the Egyptian's voice all her terror of him returned: she felt a
sentiment of pleasure at learning she was not to travel in his
companionship.

She returned to the Bath-house, and in one of the private chambers
waited their return. Many and bitter were the thoughts of this wild
girl as she sat there in her eternal darkness. She thought of her own
desolate fate, far from her native land, far from the bland cares that
once assuaged the April sorrows of childhood—deprived of the light of
day, with none but strangers to guide her steps, accursed by the one
soft feeling of her heart, loving and without hope, save the dim and
unholy ray which shot across her mind, as her Thessalian fancies
questioned of the force of spells and the gifts of magic.

Nature had sown in the heart of this poor girl the seeds of virtue
never destined to ripen. The lessons of adversity are not always
salutary—sometimes they soften and amend, but as often they indurate
and pervert. If we consider ourselves more harshly treated by fate than
those around us, and do not acknowledge in our own deeds the justice of
the severity, we become too apt to deem the world our enemy, to case
ourselves in defiance, to wrestle against our softer self, and to
indulge the darker passions which are so easily fermented by the sense
of injustice. Sold early into slavery, sentenced to a sordid
taskmaster, exchanging her situation, only yet more to embitter her
lot—the kindlier feelings, naturally profuse in the breast of Nydia,
were nipped and blighted. Her sense of right and wrong was confused by
a passion to which she had so madly surrendered herself; and the same
intense and tragic emotions which we read of in the women of the classic
age—a Myrrha, a Medea—and which hurried and swept away the whole soul
when once delivered to love—ruled, and rioted in, her breast.

Time passed: a light step entered the chamber where Nydia yet indulged
her gloomy meditations.

'Oh, thanked be the immortal gods!' said Julia, 'I have returned, I have
left that terrible cavern! Come, Nydia! let us away forthwith!'

It was not till they were seated in the litter that Julia again spoke.

'Oh!' said she, tremblingly, 'such a scene! such fearful incantations!
and the dead face of the hag!—But, let us talk not of it. I have
obtained the potion—she pledges its effect. My rival shall be suddenly
indifferent to his eye, and I, I alone, the idol of Glaucus!'

'Glaucus!' exclaimed Nydia.

'Ay! I told thee, girl, at first, that it was not the Athenian whom I
loved: but I see now that I may trust thee wholly—it is the beautiful
Greek!'

What then were Nydia's emotions! she had connived, she had assisted, in
tearing Glaucus from Ione; but only to transfer, by all the power of
magic, his affections yet more hopelessly to another. Her heart swelled
almost to suffocation—she gasped for breath—in the darkness of the
vehicle, Julia did not perceive the agitation of her companion; she went
on rapidly dilating on the promised effect of her acquisition, and on
her approaching triumph over Ione, every now and then abruptly
digressing to the horror of the scene she had quitted—the unmoved mien
of Arbaces, and his authority over the dreadful Saga.

Meanwhile Nydia recovered her self-possession: a thought flashed across
her: she slept in the chamber of Julia—she might possess herself of the
potion.

They arrived at the house of Diomed, and descended to Julia's apartment,
where the night's repast awaited them.

'Drink, Nydia, thou must be cold, the air was chill to-night; as for me,
my veins are yet ice.'

And Julia unhesitatingly quaffed deep draughts of the spiced wine.

'Thou hast the potion,' said Nydia; 'let me hold it in my hands. How
small the phial is! of what color is the draught?'

'Clear as crystal,' replied Julia, as she retook the philtre; 'thou
couldst not tell it from this water. The witch assures me it is
tasteless. Small though the phial, it suffices for a life's fidelity:
it is to be poured into any liquid; and Glaucus will only know what he
has quaffed by the effect.'

'Exactly like this water in appearance?'

'Yes, sparkling and colorless as this. How bright it seems! it is as
the very essence of moonlit dews. Bright thing! how thou shinest on my
hopes through thy crystal vase!'

'And how is it sealed?'

'But by one little stopper—I withdraw it now—the draught gives no
odor. Strange, that that which speaks to neither sense should thus
command all!'

'Is the effect instantaneous?'

'Usually—but sometimes it remains dormant for a few hours.'

'Oh, how sweet is this perfume!' said Nydia, suddenly, as she took up a
small bottle on the table, and bent over its fragrant contents.

'Thinkest thou so? the bottle is set with gems of some value. Thou
wouldst not have the bracelet yestermorn—wilt thou take the bottle?'

'It ought to be such perfumes as these that should remind one who cannot
see of the generous Julia. If the bottle be not too costly...'

'Oh! I have a thousand costlier ones: take it, child!'

Nydia bowed her gratitude, and placed the bottle in her vest.

'And the draught would be equally efficacious, whoever administers it?'

'If the most hideous hag beneath the sun bestowed it, such is its
asserted virtue that Glaucus would deem her beautiful, and none but
her!'

Julia, warmed by wine, and the reaction of her spirits, was now all
animation and delight; she laughed loud, and talked on a hundred
matters—nor was it till the night had advanced far towards morning that
she summoned her slaves and undressed.

When they were dismissed, she said to Nydia, 'I will not suffer this
holy draught to quit my presence till the hour comes for its use. Lie
under my pillow, bright spirit, and give me happy dreams!'

So saying, she placed the potion under her pillow. Nydia's heart beat
violently.

'Why dost thou drink that unmixed water, Nydia? Take the wine by its
side.'

'I am fevered,' replied the blind girl, 'and the water cools me. I will
place this bottle by my bedside, it refreshes in these summer nights,
when the dews of sleep fall not on our lips. Fair Julia, I must leave
thee very early—so Ione bids—perhaps before thou art awake; accept,
therefore, now my congratulations.'

'Thanks: when next we meet you may find Glaucus at my feet.'

They had retired to their couches, and Julia, worn out by the excitement
of the day, soon slept. But anxious and burning thoughts rolled over
the mind of the wakeful Thessalian. She listened to the calm breathing
of Julia; and her ear, accustomed to the finest distinctions of sound,
speedily assured her of the deep slumber of her companion.

'Now befriend me, Venus!' said she, softly.

She rose gently, and poured the perfume from the gift of Julia upon the
marble floor—she rinsed it several times carefully with the water that
was beside her, and then easily finding the bed of Julia (for night to
her was as day), she pressed her trembling hand under the pillow and
seized the potion. Julia stirred not, her breath regularly fanned the
burning cheek of the blind girl. Nydia, then, opening the phial, poured
its contents into the bottle, which easily contained them; and then
refilling the former reservoir of the potion with that limpid water
which Julia had assured her it so resembled, she once more placed the
phial in its former place. She then stole again to her couch, and
waited—with what thoughts!—the dawning day.

The sun had risen—Julia slept still—Nydia noiselessly dressed herself,
placed her treasure carefully in her vest, took up her staff, and
hastened to quit the house.

The porter, Medon, saluted her kindly as she descended the steps that
led to the street: she heard him not; her mind was confused and lost in
the whirl of tumultuous thoughts, each thought a passion. She felt the
pure morning air upon her cheek, but it cooled not her scorching veins.

'Glaucus,' she murmured, 'all the love-charms of the wildest magic could
not make thee love me as I love thee. Ione!—ah; away hesitation! away
remorse! Glaucus, my fate is in thy smile; and thine! hope! O joy! O
transport, thy fate is in these hands!'